Moulin Rouge: Satine Style
by Abby Greenleaf
Summary: How did Satine end up at the Moulin Rouge?  What happened behind the scenes?  More importantly, does she really love Christian?  I kept the dialogue the same in case some people haven't read it, but added some lines here and there.  Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Charlotte Fortesque: Age 14

Charlotte=Satine

I look around me and I know Mere hates me. A rather large man in an expensive red suit with gold buttons is eyeing me up and down. His hair is a flaming red, much like my own. His mustache is obviously jelled at the ends to make him look like even more of a creep. I stand here awkwardly in my flowered blue dress, tugging at the bottom so my hand won't twitch out and slap him. It's my favorite dress in the whole world, and the one thing I'll be able to remember home by.

Mere prods me once in the back, and I stiffen like a board. The large man nods approvingly. "Yes, she will do."

_No. _Can't he say I'm ugly? I'm ugly and quiet and terrible for business! Nobody will ever come to the Moulin Rouge if a girl like me is around. This is what I want him to say.

Mere needs the money. Papa is out of the job and we're barely holding on. My older brother, Jean, is looking for work too, but he can't do much. He mostly finds the occasional job lifting rocks and mining. He makes enough to put scraps of food on our plates, but not enough to pay the rent.

So Mere decided she would put her innocent, fourteen year old daughter into the prostitute business. People who actually participate in it will call me a 'courtesan', but it really just means prostitute. I'll be selling my love, my body; my innocent, untouched body.

Mere didn't even try to do it herself. She wouldn't dream of becoming a courtesan. Never in a million years. But, of course, it's fine if I do it.

I've always known Mere hated me. She always gives the best hunk of chocolate to Jean. If Jean says I do something bad, she automatically believes him. All the terrible chores like cleaning up animal waste goes to me. Jean doesn't have to do anything because he's a _boy. _He does enough just sitting there, presumably strong, as I'm the real one lifting all the weight. I hate Jean more than I hate Mere. This was his idea. He's been wandering around Paris (of course, _he's _allowed to go for nice strolls) when he saw a sign for the Moulin Rouge. It needed pretty, young girls for dancing. I, unfortunately, can dance and sing. I always have. I suppose I'm not terrible looking either, except for my infamous red hair. Stupid Jean came running home exclaiming how we could make a fortune off of me. Everyone loved the idea.

So, because of Jean and the rest of my terrible family, I am standing here trying not to vomit as Mere and the large man discuss what my fate is going to be.

I want to plug my ears and scream so I won't here the details. Hear that people will pay 40 francs to sleep with me. Hear that Mere will be paid 50 Francs a day for me dancing around in huge dresses.

I'll be fed, and have a place to sleep. I'll get expensive jewels and meet pretty girls who want nothing more but to be my friend.

I don't want any of that. I want to play on the streets with my best friend, Lucille, and wait for the daily bread and cheese to be thrown out so we can eat. That's life for me. I don't want anything different.

Fate isn't in my hands anymore. My fate is in the hands of that large man in the expensive looking suit, Harold Zidler.

This is the beginning of my life at the Moulin Rouge.


	2. Chapter 2

The First Man

My real name is Charlotte Fortesque. Now, I am to be called Satine. I can not even tell my 'friends' to call me Charlotte. I am only Satine.

I am shaking terribly, my bright yellow heels click together. I glance down at my body, at the outfit so tight it's hard to breathe. I have a yellow bra on, and on top a see-through lace that shows my body. The bottom flaring skirt part is yellow on top, but the underside is bright blue. It has to be pretty for when I do the can-can, or if one of the older men spots me and decides that he likes me.

This is my first dance. The girl who sleeps in the bed next to mine, Vixon, swears that it's not terrible. She says that it's even fun. "Don't take it seriously," Vixon suggested to me the night before. "I mean, he doesn't love you. You don't love him. Just think of it as a dance."

I tried to wrap my head around the idea, but I could not. I could not lose my virginity to some man thirty years older than myself who likely has a wife and children at home. It's immoral, terrible, and wrong.

The music starts to play. The honkadola, if I am not correct. I dance out into the floor, crowded with men dressed as penguins. Every one of them is wearing the same black and white outfit with the black top hat. Most of them are old, around forty or so. There are a few boys who seem to be about twenty that are laughing and leaning against walls. It's comical, how they're all wearing black and white when all the girls are wearing such vibrant costumes it make my head spin.

A few of the younger men begins to dance with me. I try my best to please them, for I would much rather be with them than the grey haired creeps that seem to occupy this sinful place. I am much mistaken.

The boys get bored of me after a while and go dance with a girl I've come to know as Cherise, who is dressed in a bright pink number with a white underside. Delicate, people call her. I wish I was delicate. Nobody seems to take notice that I'm still a child. Old men crowd around me as much as they do with the others. It makes me sick.

One of them, a forty year old man with huge, grey eyes, seems to take an interest in me. He leads me away from his 'pack' and we dance. I follow what the other girls are doing, what I've been observing for the past three days when I had time to 'settle in'. Running my hands down his legs, making him as stiff as a bored, teasing, and then coming back up and letting him toss me around like a Raggedy-Anne doll.

He smirks at me. I am his prey, he is the predator. He's going to take me down, I can just tell. "How about you and I get a private room?"

"Why, of course," I say, making my voice as sultry as possible. I'm positive it comes out cracked and nervous, how I'm really feeling.

I run my hands down his legs again, and his eyes seem to sparkle. "Yes, yes…I'll speak to Zidler about you." His eyes trail down my body, pausing at my not-yet completely developed breasts. "I haven't seen you around. I'm sure I'd remember someone as beautiful as you." He says this as if I should be flattered, so I attempt a shy smile. "He'll be asking a fair price for you, won't he? Come along."

His hand finds my bottom and his hand goes over it as he pushes me through the mass of dancing woman, none without a partner or two. My heart leaps up to my throat in anticipation. I can't do this. I've never kissed a man, never mind made love. There is not a way in the world I can do this.

It turns out that I could, and that this man would pay a very large sum of money. After all, he was taking my innocence, and he insisted on the Elephant. The Elephant that became something like a home to me over the years. Yet something that I've always feared just because this is where, this man I've never known the name of, took my innocence.


	3. Chapter 3

The Beginning of my Death

I shortly became the most popular girl in the Moulin Rouge. Mere loves me now, for I brought her enough money to support her, and buy things she didn't need. After all, I am the _Sparkling Diamond. _I am the most infamous of the already infamous _Diamond Dogs._ The one who's lost count of how many men she's slept with. The whore of Moulin Rouge, if I may.

I wear this title with pride. I'm beautiful, sexy and an amazing talent. Men drool over me as I swing above their heads singing my song. The song Harold Zidler made just for me when I was sixteen and had already slept with a few hundred men. It was a way to make money, and I was the star.

Is it the most honorable way to make money? No. Everybody needs to make money, though. Woman really only have a few ways, and this is by far the most profitable. I don't do this for pleasure, I tell myself. I do this for money. I am not necessarily a whore by choice. It just happens that men love me.

Now, I'm in the Elephant. The Elephant belongs to me and nobody else now. I am by far the most profitable girl here. Even the new, fifteen year old girl who's been named Roxanne isn't as popular as me. She doesn't have a beautiful voice. She doesn't have uniquely sexy red hair. Only I have these features, and I wear them with pride.

I'm on the bright red, Indian looking bed, on top of a man with sandy blond hair. I've thrown his hat to the other side of the room, and now I'm taking off his pants, slowly. He's shivering in anticipation.

Suddenly, he coughs. He abruptly rolls over, bringing me with him. He coughs again, onto his sleeve. "It's nothing, my dear," he says, eyebrows raised, a grin playing across his lips. He pulls the sleeve away from his face and I notice that it has splats of red on it. Blood.

He's paying a high price for me, though. Harold would never let me back down because some man had probably but his tongue or something. I get back on him, wrapping my legs around his waist.

"I should hope not," I say, letting my tongue trail over his mouth. I can't help but notice that they taste a bit like blood.

I'm sure I'll be fine. After all, it's just a bit of blood.


	4. Chapter 4

Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend

Today, I'm flying about in my best costume, a short, silver number that clings heavily to my body. It makes it hard for me to breathe, but I manage. A small top hat sits on top of my head as I begin my number. I make eye contact with Harold, who's become almost like a father to me over the years, and open my mouth to sing.

_The French are glad to die for love, _I sing, looking at nothing in particular, yet making the men drool. _They delight in fighting jewels. _

_But I prefer a man who leaves _

_And gives expensive jewels. _I begin to swing, making the men scream. The far less important girls begin their dance as I descend, singing more.__

_A kiss on the hand may be quite continental,__  
><em>_But diamonds are a girl's best friend_

I shake off a few men and make my way through the crowd._  
><em>_A kiss may be grand but it, won't pay the rental on your humble flat__  
><em>_Or help you feed your pussy cat, _I sing, taunting the men with my cleavage.

__

_Men grow cold as, girl's grow old__  
><em>_And we all lose are charms in the end, _an older man takes the chance to grab at me. I giggle and dance about, close, but no touching yet._  
><em>_But square cut or pear shaped__  
><em>_These rocks don't lose, their shape___

_Diamond's are a girl's best friend, _I sing, snatching someone's jewels as they wave them at me. __

_Tiffany's...Cartier! _I exclaim as I'm carried over the crowd. I smack a bouquet of roses away from a sweet looking man. Poor boy. He doesn't understand that diamonds really are a girl's best friend. At least, they're any Moulin Rouge girl's best friend.__

_Cos we are living in a material world, _I dance over a man, lying on the ground, dancing, taunting the other men. One of them will come find me later, but unfortunately, they'll have to wait. I'm with the Duke tonight._  
><em>_And I am a material girl__  
><em>I send a kiss to the crowd, winking.__

_Come and get me boys! _They throw me up in the air, and loyally catch me._  
><em>_Black star, ross core!_

I taunt them further, lying down and yawning as I am carried about the room as the other girls work themselves to shreds. __

_TALK TO ME HARRY ZIDLER AND TELL ME ALL ABOUT IT!_

I am put down on my feet next to Harold Zidler. I send him a secreted smile as I begin to dance around him.__

_There may come a time when a lass needs a lawyer, _I sing, strutting closer to Harold._  
><em>_-but diamond's are a girls best friend, _Harold says, turning to me, snatching the jewel and dangling it above me. I pretend I can't get it and swat feebly. The men buy it._  
><em>_There may come a time when a hard boiled employer thinks your_

_Awful nice, _Harold moves his hand next to my _derierre _as I stick it out, taunting the chanting men further. Silly them. Tonight, I am reserved._  
><em>_But get that ice or else no dice___

_He's your boy when stocks are high__  
><em>_But beware when they start to descend_

"Is the Duke here, Harold?" I ask, secretly hoping he's not. We're on the platform, dancing, shrieking in the middle so the men don't know we're having an actual conversation.

Harold says something that's drowned out by the singing of the diamond dogs. I'm assuming he answered in the positive.

"Where is he?" I say sultry, taunting the men on the floor further, though I doubt they even care what I'm saying.

"He's the one Toulouse is shaking a hankie at."

I turn around as we switch spots and see the small, bohemian man shaking his hankie at a rather handsome fellow, who looks about my age. His hair is dark and he looks most concerned, not self assured like dukes are. I'm positive he's not the duke. I've met the Duke, Pierre. Zidler doesn't know it, so I pretend to believe him. He can't know that the Duke met me when I was thirteen and stealing. He caught me stealing from a shop in the town. I broke in because I needed the money. It was a big deal. I still can't believe he didn't turn me in. This is why I've been so terrified to meet the Duke. He'll remember me, I'm sure.

Still, I say, "Are you sure?"

"Take a peak," Harold says, leaning around me. He assures me, "That's the one, chickpea!"

I shriek and glance at him, waving my jewels around. I know this man is not the Duke, but I'll pretend. After all, what's the worst that can happen? It's not as if he's hideous. I wouldn't mind making love with him at all, really. He's better than most. Plus, once I shriek and say "You're not the Duke!" He'll have to pay me all sorts of money. And, oh, how I love money!_  
><em>I beckon Harold towards me and growl, like we're about to make love. We are immediately surrounded by the dresses of girls, and we sink into their barrier.

"Will he invest?" I ask, taking off my sparkling silver number and getting handed my favorite pink number. I'm used to changing in front of Harold and any other man really. I could quite comfortably stand up right now and glance at all these men. I've slept with at least half of them.

"After spending the night with you, how could he refuse?" Harold says in his regular, booming voice.

"What's his type?" I ask in my now regular voice. The sexy, high pitched one that's so different from my real one. I use it most of the time now. My regular man begins adjusting me, throwing clothes over me.

"Wilting flower?" I ask, frowning slightly. Harold doesn't look pleased. "Bright and bubbly?" I ask with a smile and a shriek. He shakes his head again. "Or smoldering temperas?" I say with a growl.

"I'd say, smoldering temperas. We're all relying on you, Gosling," Harold says, referring to the fact that this determines whether he'll invest in our show 'Spectacular Spectacular'. It's going to be a play, in which I will star. I'll finally be a famous actress. Someone little girls look up to, rather than a courtesan.

"Remember!" Harold reminds me. "A real show, in a real theater, with a real audience and you'll be…"

"A real actress," I finish with hope in my voice.

I pop back out with my feather dress with a shriek.

_Cos that's when those louses go back to their spouses__  
><em>_Diamonds, are a, girl's, best, Friend!__  
><em>

I approach the so-called Duke and taunt him, presenting myself to him. He can't help but stare. After all, I am beautiful and an _amazing_ actress.


	5. Chapter 5

The Frauds Strange Ways

This so-called Duke and I danced for quite some time. He's an excellent dancer, especially for being such a fraud. I got changed into a red dress, of which I am now changing out of and into some black lingerie that Harold says that the Duke will love. Well, yes, he may, but this is not the Duke. This is some awkward man with a strange bump on his forehead who has some strange obsession with poetry. I've done many strange things in my life of a courtesan, but I've never recited poetry as I made love. It's simply not done.

Perhaps he did not mean poetry when he said it? He may just have another word for sex…poetry. Strange, but possible.

I'm almost happy he's not the real duke. The real duke will remember me stealing the apple. He'll be horrified, and then I won't be able to become a real actress. It's my only dream. Otherwise, I just exist. I will only exist to make needy old men happy. Not a great existence, in my opinion.

I fell from the swing today. I've passed out before, but never from that high up. I am so thankful to Jabar that he caught me. I'm thankful for everyone who saw me cough up blood. They didn't tell anybody. I don't think that anybody would want to sleep with me if they knew I coughed up blood.

It's just the same as the one man I slept with. When I'm dancing, or even when I'm not, I often sweat too much and faint. Then occasionally I'll cough up blood. It's terrible. I'm so embarrassed by it. It's my one weakness; the one thing that makes me imperfect. I loathe myself for it.

Now, I waltz into the room where the so-called Duke is waiting for me, looking out the window, or back of the elephant. I'm wearing draping lingerie that Harold put aside for me, along with sparkling silver heals. I look dazzling.

"This is a wonderful place for a poetry reading, don't you think?" I sway on my spot, glancing at him.

His eyes glaze over me in shock. As if he doesn't expect me to be wearing lingerie. "Poetic enough for you?" I say, as sultry as possible.

"Yes," he whispers, looking down like an idiot.

I've come to realize that I'm starving. How on earth am I supposed to make love or 'recite poetry' with this man if I'm completely quenched and starving. I try to suggest it in the sexiest way possible. I dance towards the table of champagne, fruit and a dish of chicken that's covered with a silver lid. I glance at him as I approach it. "A little _light _super." I throw my hands up in the air to make it look as if this could somehow be sexy. "Maybe some champagne."

"I'd rather just, uh, get it over and done with," he says shyly.

Yes, he better be shy! He wants to get it _over and done with? _What type of man says that? I'm going to starve to death, or faint. I hope he realizes that. "Oh." I calm my expression and turn to him.

"Very well," I say, raising my carefully plucked eyebrow. I walk towards the bed, the same one I lost my innocence on, and lie down on the bed, pulling the drapery of my lingerie up so he can see more of my body. My oh-so irresistible body.

"Then why don't you…come down here and let's get it over and done with." The quicker the better, I suppose. As long as I'm paid, I don't care.

He looks at me like I'm a moron again. What? I'm on the bed. Isn't that what one does when they're about to make love?

"I prefer to do it standing," he says, like it's the most normal thing in the world. Standing? Well…as long as I get my money…

"Oh."

"You don't have to stand, I mean. It's just sometimes that…it's quite long and I'd like you to be comfortable."

It's long? I thought he just wanted to get it over and done with? Besides, how are we supposed to make love if I'm sitting and he's standing? It just gets worse.

"It's quite modern what I do, and it may f-feel a little strange at first, but I think if you're open, you might enjoy it."

Modern? Love can be strange, or normal, or passionate, but not _modern. _ How on earth can it be modern? And feel a bit strange? What's he going to do? Perhaps I should admit that I know he's not the Duke soon.

"I'm sure I will," I find myself saying. He looks even more nervous than I am. Like he's never done this 'modern' thing before.

He turns away from me and starts talking. He turns around to look at me, flailing his arm in the air, "The sky!" he sees me on the bed and then he stars mumbling something about blue birds. I'm still concerned. He's certainly not making this easy for me.

He starts blowing wind out of his mouth and making strange noises. Is this some way of preparing for sex for him?

I lie down on the bed, breathing heavily. Hopefully, if he sees he doesn't have to do anything, just come down and make love with me and we _can _get it 'over and done with'.

"I think..." he starts, but it stops as soon as it gets that far.

The man makes strange noises again and I'm finally fed up. I sigh and sit up on the bed. "Um, is everything all right?" I ask him, actually concerned.

"I'm a little nervous," he says. Nervous? Is he a virgin? Oh, I bet that's it! Ha! I can deal with this.

"Oh!" I exclaim.

"Sometimes it takes a little while for, you know, inspiration to come." He's awkwardly feeling his top hat, which he has taken off and put in his hands.

"Oh, yes yes yes. Let mummy help, hm?" I say, approaching him.

I stick my hands down his pants. "Does that _inspire _you?"

"Oh!" he says. This, finally, is normal. Men generally are shocked when I do this, for whatever reason. I throw him onto the bed.

He still has a bemused expression on his face as I go towards him. "Let's make love!"

"Make love?"

"You want to, don't you?"

I'm now on top of him, holding him down as he attempts to tell me something.

"Well I-I…"

I cover his mouth with my hand and begin to undress him. "Oh, tell me the truth. Can you _feel _the poetry? Oh, come on! Can you feel it? Free the tiger!" I shriek and unbutton his pants. For someone who doesn't want to make love, he sure has a big one… "Big boy," I say in shock, looking at his surprised, slightly horrified face.

"Yes, I need your poetry, NOW!" I exclaim, getting closer to him.

"All right!" he screams, rolling away from me, crashing onto the floor. He crawls away immediately.

"It's a little bit funny," he says, out of breath, but standing.

"Yes?" I ask, confused. I'm panting exhausted from trying to get this strange man to make love with me. He obviously _wants _to…

"This f-f-feeling inside. I'm not one of those who can-who can easily hide."

"Is this-is this okay? Is this what you want?" he asks nervously, glancing at me.

"Oh…poetry…yes, yes…yes, this is what I want, naughty words." I giggle and begin to exclaim random bits of words that I'd normally say during sex as he goes on about houses and such.

"I don't have much money, but boy if I did, I'd buy a big house where we both could. If I were a sculpture, but then again, no, or a man who makes potions at a traveling show."

I crawl on the ground and pick up a blanket like rug. I wrap it around myself and roll on the ground, still making noises. "Don't stop!" I say when he does.

"I know it's not much…but it's the best I can do."

He looks at me with a disgusted expression and goes toward the window. Oh, please, I can't have lost my client! I've never done that!

Just when I think I've done something terribly, terribly wrong, he begins to sing.

His voice is amazing. Beautiful and powerful, much better than his love-making skills. I can't help but stand up and listen to this strange man. This man with the voice of an angel.


	6. Chapter 6

The Genius Plot

~Between the last two chapters~

Christian sang a beautiful song to Satine, and she pretended to be in love with him. We met the Duke, and he walked in on Christian trying to wake up Satine when she passed out because of her TB (she doesn't know she has it yet). He was jealous, but they cleared things up. They introduced the show, and the Duke loved it. He specifically liked Christian, so now we're trying to find a way to put him in the play for Christian has said that he doesn't want to.

By the by, this chapter is pretty much totally original. Nothing much from the movie.

ANOTHER THING: I'm not quite sure I like where this is going. I just love the original plot it's hard to alter it :'( Oh well. I'll try my best! Thanks for reading!

"Oh, Harold! Aren't I just genius?"  
>"Yes, Gosling! Wonderful!" Harold says, kissing me twice on each cheek, his mustache tickling my sensitive cheek. "We'll tell the Duke immediately! Get him into your room, all right?"<p>

"Of course," I say with a cheeky smile.

I've just had the best idea in the history of the world. This supposed Duke, who just recently told me his name is Christian, can sing and dance better than anybody I've ever met. Better than myself, I hate to say. If I get this man to participate in the play, we'll surely be sold out. The only way we can convince him to do it is if I pretend to be in love with him. It won't be too hard.

Christian already loves me. I could tell by the glances he sent me. By that time, the wheels in my head were already turning, so I flirted back. He'll fall in love with me and participate in the love. We just need the duke to help. After all, a portion of this money _is _his. Everything will go perfectly and I will be a real actress.

"Come, Gosling," Harold tells me, pulling me by the arm. We're to speak to the Duke now about my master plot.

The Duke is sitting in the private room that only Harold and I are aloud in with his man servant at his side. His blond hair combed back in the style of the time period, his mustache jelled in the same fashion as Harold's. He's slicking back his hair and pulling up his waistband as I come in.

"Ah, Duke," I say with a smile, allowing him to kiss my hand.

"We have a preposition for you," Harold begins. The Duke's man servant nods in approval for him to go on. "We believe that Christian could make this show spectacular. We believe that if he falls in love with Satine he will do it for practically no fee at all. In fact, if we do it the way Satine suggested, he won't even know he's doing it."

The Duke raises his practically invisible eyebrows and, with a small twist of his thin mouth, says, "Go on."

We tell him of my entire plan. My entire, genius plan that will be commencing any time now. The plan that will make me a real actress.

When we're done explaining, the Duke asks for a moment alone with me. Oh, no…what if it's about how he saw me? Now he remembers me and doesn't want to sponsor us! I'll never become a real actress!

"Yes, of course," Harold says.

The man servant is hesitant, but the Duke hisses, "Warner!" at him, and he reluctantly follows Harold from the room, glancing back to stare daggers into me before the door shuts.

As soon as it's closed, the Duke is on his feet. His nose is only inches away from mine. "I remember you. You thief. I can ruin you. Do you want that?" he asks, his voice booming, rather than its usual quiet shakiness.

I shake my head the best I can.

"Then you do what I say. You will marry me. You will be mine. Manipulate that boy and you'll be mine. I'll buy you all sorts of jewels. Do you want that?"

I nod, now only my hands shaking.

"Always remember, I know your little secret."

"Of course," I say, smoothly, calmly.

"Now give me a kiss."

I plant my lips on his, bringing my mouth open and dipping my tongue into his mouth, only long enough to leave him wanting more. I've mastered this art. I wink at him, "I'll see you tonight."


End file.
